


Royal Consort (Or, Blessings of the Fuck Rock)

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Royal Consort AU, blowjobs in questionable places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Noct and Prompto accidentally make a contract with the gods by writing Prompto’s name on an ancient stone as a joke.Now, Prompto is a divinely-ordained Royal Consort.This is... not exactly how he expected the evening to go.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 91
Kudos: 621





	Royal Consort (Or, Blessings of the Fuck Rock)

“Get this,” Noct says.

Prompto squints up from his art history textbook. They’re three beers into a late night study session, and Noct is lying on the floor with a book jammed over his face, bare feet tapping a pile of discarded cushions. His shoulders and head have disappeared under the heated kotatsu where he and Prompto have dumped their college homework, and Prompto idly pats his knee. “So there’s a rock in the Citadel.”

“No.” Prompto’s only half listening, too focused on trying to eke some symbolism out of a painting of a shed. “A rock.”

“Yeah.” Noct wriggles his way out from under the kotatsu, and Prompto glances down just in time to see the violet light of Noct’s magic fade from the pages. “It’s been around for like, two thousand years. And guess what it is.”

“It’s a rock, dude. You told me.” 

“It’s a job application,” Noct says. He plops his book down over Prompto’s. “For _Royal Consorts._ Kings used to like, write their lovers’ names on the rock and they were. You know. Official. It was a job and everything.”

“Wait.” Prompto looks down at Noct, who still hasn’t bothered to sit up. “You’re telling me I could’ve been getting paid to make out with you this whole time, and all I had to do was write my _name_ on a _rock?_ ”

“Weird shit, right?” Noct grins. 

Prompto stares at him. Outside, traffic ebbs and flows like an endless ocean, a soothing roar in the back of his mind.

“You wanna write my name on the rock, don’t you,” Prompto says.

Noct’s smile widens.

It’s the smile that does him in. Prompto knows how some of the crustier types of the upper crust view him—That strange middle class punk, probably dragging the crown prince into trouble when Noct should be preparing to inherit the throne—but it’s Noct who’s the bad influence, really. On nights like this, when the fey mood takes him and Noct beams at Prompto as though he’s the only person he wants to be breaking into the Citadel with at two in the morning, well... 

He closes his book. “If we get arrested for vandalizing a rock, I’m totally throwing you under the bus.”

“See, that’s the kind of devotion you expect from a Royal Consort,” Noct says. Prompto snorts—He can almost hear the capital letters—and reaches over to help Noct up.

The rock isn’t exactly easy to find. Prompto expects to see it in the royal gallery, maybe, or in the weird museum section where one of Noct’s ancestors’ bedrooms is just sitting there behind a velvet rope, but it turns out the rock’s not even important enough for proper display. They dig through a closet full of old uniforms and abandoned crown prototypes—Prompto throws on a laurel for the hell of it—and almost trip over the thing jammed up between a statue of the founder king and a box of old pictures. Noct shines his phone flashlight on the rock and skims through some of the names.

“I think this is it,” he says.

“The fuck rock,” Prompto whispers in mock awe. Noct coughs down a laugh. 

“Right,” Noct says. He pulls out a marker from his armiger and uncaps it with a click. “Ready to make it official?”

“Sure,” Prompto says. He stares into Noct’s eyes. “Consort me up.”

Noct rolls his eyes and scrawls Prompto’s name on the top of the rock. He steps back to admire his handiwork, and Prompto takes a picture of it on his phone.

“There,” Noct says. “Congrats, Prompto. Consider yourself royally consorted.”

“This is the nicest thing you’ve ever done, man,” Prompto says. He slaps Noct on the ass, and Noct stumbles sideways into a shelf full of broken Kingsglaive helmets.

Something jingles.

The air of the storage closet feels... strangely colder, now. It slides across Prompto’s skin, prickling the hairs on his bare arms, cooling the metal on his neck, brushing the exposed curls peeking out over his—

“Wait,” Prompto says.

Noct peers up at him through the gloom. His gaze travels down Prompto’s body, and Prompto touches his suddenly bare chest to find that his Lucis U sweatpants and tank are gone, replaced by a string of gold jewelry and what looks like a single, miserable triangle of silk.

Noct makes a sound like a strangled chocobo.

“Uh, dude?” Prompto fumbles behind himself and touches the string of a thong. “ _Dude?_ Did the fuck rock do this?”

“It gave you eyeshadow,” Noct manages to say, before he doubles over. Prompto covers his dick with both hands.

“You didn’t say it was magic!” Prompto says. He grabs one of the spare uniform jackets and throws it on. 

“Didn’t know,” Noct squeaks. He drops to his knees in the dusty storage closet, tears in his eyes. “Sorry. Sorry, gimme a sec.”

“I’m never sucking your dick again,” Prompto says.

“Noooo,” Noct wheezes, collapsing into hysterics a second time. Prompto struggles not to laugh despite himself—Noct’s making ugly braying sounds as he tries to breathe, and his face is beet red in the darkness, twisting up every time he glances at the thong hugging Prompto’s hips. 

Which is exactly how the security guard, alarmed by the sound of a goose loudly honking to death in a storage closet, finally finds them.

———

Prompto doesn’t do well with royalty.

Noct’s one thing. Ever since Prompto saw Noct try to eat canned cheese and whipped cream at the same time in junior year, he’s had a hard time thinking of him as anyone other than, well, a guy who would eat canned cheese and whipped cream at the same time. In the Venn diagram between “cheese” and “royalty” in Prompto’s mind, the lines don’t even blur.

King Regis, on the other hand, looks like the kind of guy who probably eats expensive Brie cured by magic on a remote mountain somewhere. He probably owns a marble cheeseboard. He probably owns the cows.

Noct nudges Prompto with an elbow, and Prompto quickly slaps his hands over his dick again. 

King Regis, sitting on the other side of an enormous mahogany desk, gives Prompto a sympathetic look.

 _Oh, gods,_ Prompto thinks, as the king summons a blanket out of his armiger. Prompto takes it numbly and balls it over his bare legs. _I’m sitting in front of the king, I’m wearing a magical thong a rock gave me, and I can’t stop thinking about cheese._

Noct coughs into his fist, and Prompto catches his shoulders shaking faintly. King Regis’ sympathetic smile goes cold.

“Noctis,” Regis says. “You understand that any contract on the Consort Stone is binding.”

Noct struggles to pull himself together. “Legally? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Divinely,” King Regis says. Prompto feels Noct stiffen at his side. “The gods provided the stone to make allowances for any... rulers whose lovers would have been ostracized, otherwise. It was originally given to the third Caelum, who famously wanted to marry his shield.”

 _The fuck stone said gay rights,_ Prompto thinks. Noct barks out a laugh and covers his face.

Then he stops. His fingers slide down his cheeks as Prompto jerkily turns to stare.

 _What the fuck,_ Noct says, his voice echoing in Prompto’s mind. His lips don’t move.

 _What the fuck?_ Prompto asks back. Noct’s eyes widen.

_What the—_

_Can you—_

_Oh my fucking gods your voice is in my h—_

_You heard me talk about cheese didn’t y—_

_Fuck my life oh my fucking—_

“Gentlemen.” King Regis’ hands appear through the fog of panic, pushing them apart. Prompto stares up into his eyes, and the king sighs heavily. “You can already mindspeak, then.”

“Why do we even _have_ the fuck stone?” Noct chokes. Regis raises a single eyebrow.

“The _what_ stone, Noctis?”

“Sir,” Prompto blurts. “Your majesty. Your... king sir.”

“That’s more than enough,” Regis says.

“Thank you. Uh. How long does this...” he gestures to his lap. “And what else are we gonna expect?”

“Some sort of divine blessing, eventually,” Regis says. “If you choose to be intimate, that is.” Noct goes pale. “You may also receive monetary compensation—the last Royal Consort said he found lumps of gold in a flowerpot twice a year. Then there are the matching tattoos, which rest assured, only appear when one is in a committed relationship—“

Noct and Prompto give each other panicky looks. Prompto hastily checks his wrist, but there’s still just the one tattoo. Noct glances down his shirt. 

If the king sees this, he says nothing. “You are not obligated to be intimate, of course. But Noctis, if you do find yourself, ah... feeling... if you have certain urges for your, ah, friend here...”

 _Just kill me,_ Noct thinks to Prompto.

“Then his official uniform will materialize. I recommend you bring an extra coat with you,” he adds to Prompto. “Just in case. It fades soon enough. I’m surprised you’re still in the official attire, honestly.”

“Oh my gods,” Noct whispers.

 _Dude, you’re never getting horny again,_ Prompto thinks. He glares at Noct, and Noct covers his face a second time and groans loudly into his hands.

They go back to Noct’s place in silence.

 _Fries?_ Prompto asks, mentally, as they pass a drive thru. Noct grunts and swings the car around.

They eat their fries in the parking lot. Prompto’s still wearing the thong.

“Dude,” he says, at last. “We need to talk about your boner.”

“Look,” Noct snaps. He shoves his fries back in the bag. “I’m not saying this isn’t fucked up, and I mean, you don’t have to—dad was right when he said you didn’t have to stay with me or anything and I’m not gonna force y—“

As Noct speaks, Prompto hears Noct’s thoughts, strained and thin. _But the thong looks good on you and I really wanna just deepthroat your cock like, yesterday._

“Oh,” Prompto says. Noct falls silent. “Uh. Sure. Okay.”

Noct scrambles for the blanket.

It’s a terrible idea, but they’re in the parking lot of a fast food restaurant that sells a chicken sandwich with a slab of grilled chicken shoved between two slabs of fried chicken, then stuffed between two donuts for good measure. Terrible ideas probably spawn there, like daemons. Prompto braces himself against one side of the car, all too aware of the slither of gold necklaces over his bare chest and the tightness of his magical g-string, and bites his cheek as Noct licks a stripe up the underside of his cock. Calloused fingers brush his thighs, pushing them farther apart, and as Noct goes for it and just takes as much of Prompto into his mouth as possible, the edges of Prompto’s vision go white.

The air around them vibrates with the roar of a thunderous voice that cracks the windshield almost in half.

 _LET THE CONTRACT BE SEALED,_ Bahamut says, looming over Noct’s car with his massive, steel wings clicking open across the sky.

Noct screams around Prompto’s cock.

Prompto screams back. They fumble. Prompto accidentally kicks Noct in the face as Noct scrambles to retreat, leaving his dick half hard and bared for the king of the gods to see. Prompto squawks and shields it, and Noct lunges to cover Prompto’s nipples with both hands.

Bahamut nods at them, and they scream again.

Across the city, watching the sky light up beyond the window of his study, King Regis Lucis Caelum discreetly closes the blinds.

———

The thong, like all divine summons, does go away eventually. Prompto and Noct end up sitting on the bed in shocked silence, hardly daring to touch, staring into the dark, familiar expanse of Noct’s bedroom. 

Prompto passes Noct a cold fry.

Noct gratefully takes it.

They work around the contract, in the end. No one knows. Sure, everyone saw one of the gods appear in the sky for no apparent reason other than to menace a 24 hr chicken restaurant, but they don’t exactly know why. Which is fine.

There is an awkward moment a week later, when Noct is daydreaming across campus and Prompto finds his clothes slowly starting to flicker in the back of his art history class. He scrambles for his phone and sends off a frantic text: _IEDOLAS ALDERCAPT FUCKS_ and gets a series of horrified emojis in return. His clothes, thankfully, stay on, but Prompto spends the rest of the class period thinking about the fact that Noct wants him, that Noct wants him right now, that only the thought of an imperial boner stands between Prompto getting through class or being expelled for public indecency, and when the bell rings, Prompto runs for it.

He drags Noct into his dorm room by the collar. They’re about two steps up the stairs by the time the thong appears, but it’s gone soon enough, dragged off his thighs so Noct can ride Prompto on his cheap twin bed, the tattoo of Prompto’s thumbprint rising and falling on his collarbone with every breath.

No gods appear when Prompto bends Noct in half over the sheets, but that’s fine. They don’t need them.

Still, as Noct goes pleasantly limp beneath him and lazily sucks Prompto’s fingers into his mouth, Prompto can’t help but grin and whisper into his ear.

“Let the contract be s—fnnghh!” He cackles as Noct shoves a pair of boxers in his face, and rolls so Noct is pressing him up against the wall, the both of them jammed on his narrow bed. 

“I’m taking your name off the fuck rock,” Noct says.

“Too late,” Prompto says. “You can’t unfuck this, Noct. You love me.”

“Apparently,” Noct says, grinning despite the drawl in his voice. He kisses Prompto, knocking his elbows into the wall, and when he reaches down to wrap his fingers around Prompto’s length, Prompto accidentally slams the ball of his foot right through the plaster.

They both stare as gold tumbles from the hole in the wall, sliding off the side of Prompto’s bed and onto the floor below.

“Huh,” Noct says. “Guess the gods approve.”

Prompto laughs and kisses Noct’s tattoo, lips curving against his skin. “Guess so.”


End file.
